The Hunger
by washedblue
Summary: Patrick Bateman is plagued by bloodlust. He has plans tonight, and it doesn't involve returning video tapes...


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A/N: Well, this is going to be graphic. (obviously) so read at your own risk.

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Tonight I am at home watching _The Patty Winters Show_ and tonight the discussion is conjoined twins. I canceled my date with Evelyn to see it, and then made myself J & B on the rocks. I even cooked a meal for myself. On the stove are Christie's fingers, vaginal lips, and tongue, sizzling loudly and turning a pale purple. I take a fork and try the flesh from her ring finger, but find it to be very rough and dry like sandpaper. I'm not sure whether it's going to be good enough to eat.

I think I need some new meat.

Something that I can truly taste.

I decide to invite that hardbodied bitch waitress from Dorsia. A redhead with long legs that moved with a spider's grace. Samantha was her name. She gave me her number two nights ago. She had okay tits, a common face.

Within half an hour my doorbell rings, interrupting me from fucking Christie's weightless, detached head, so I have to fuck it harder to come in her empty, small, tongue-less mouth. Even though I had taken her eyes out, I can still feel her looking up at me. A worm crawls out of her eye hole and it almost looks like a tear. I drop her in the closet, next to the others, wipe my dick off, and answer the door. Samantha enters my home and smiles at me. She is wearing Versace, upon request. Her hair is left down, also upon request.

"What's cooking?" She asks. "It smells interesting."

"A vagina."

Samantha laughs at me. She _fucking_ laughs at me. The stupid c_unt_. They all think I'm joking, and by the time they realize the fucking joke is on them it's too late. They're in my hands. Fucked. In Pieces. Bleeding. It happens no matter what.

Unsurprisingly, this is how her night will end. Samantha came onto me quickly and whispered in my ear that she likes it rough. She unbuttons my crisp Ralph Lauren shirt and peels it over my shoulders and lets it fall to the ground. I spank her ass red for it, since that shirt was very clean and expensive, but she moans, liking it. I don't want her to like anything.

"Take everything off." I feel bold, hungry.

She obeys, sliding her panties down her perfect thighs, and down her legs. Her skirt and shirt follow, and she stands before me naked. Her nipples are girlishly pink and hard, and her skin smooth. I make her wear a pair of rabbit fur earmuffs. She kneels over my futon, looking back at me with her ass in the air. She smiles, and I take hold of her waist. I enter her tight body slowly, letting her warmth envelop me. She lets out a small gasp, and so do I. Now I'm pounding her hard enough that she warns me to take it easy. I feel her pussy tighten and it makes me go faster and she starts whimpering. She mouths the word: "_Ow_", and I come all over her back. I'm so e_xcited_ by the sight of it. She is definitely not. She looks a little upset, but then it surpasses. She stands up from the futon and puts her panties back on and wanders into my kitchen, limping.

"I want to try whatever it is you're cooking," she says.

Immediately, I follow her, grabbing the knife out of the drawer. First, I hear a skillet drop and then her shrilling scream.

"What the _fu--_" I place the knife at her neck.. She gulps loudly, and I watch her throat bob up and down.

The fear in her eyes gives me another erection.

Samantha is tied to my bed. I've torn off the satin sheets and I have surrounded her with various body parts of my other victims. Bethany's bloody arm rolls of a head and lands on her leg, making her wince. Her mouth is open, and she screams. She wails like the bitch she is. But she won't cry. I won't let her. Every nerve inside me is alive.

"You are a sick _fuck_," she spits. "A fucking _freak._"

"Do you like _Pulp_?" I ask, changing the discs in my new stereo.

"I wanna go home!"

"I like them very much. Outstanding lyrics. Not as good as _Genesis_ though..."

"_Let me **go**_!"

"Samantha," I reply with a heavy sigh, wiping some dust off my tapes. "You might as well face it. Tonight, you are _going to die_, because I _will_ kill you. I am going to rip you apart. You will bleed and suffer greatly, and I will enjoy it. Even if you didn't come over tonight, I would have hunted you down and **then** killed you. Do you understand? It doesn't matter. This is your fate, sweetheart."

Samantha is weeping and shaking her head uselessly. I walk over to her, knife in hand. Adreline blazes through my body. I turn up the volume on my stereo and turn to her with a smile:

"Feel the music, baby."

First, I take my meat knife and slowly cut off her big toe, and I make her watch. She gurgles and screams and yelps uselessly and wiggles her toe, making the cut more jagged and rough. Blood lands on my face in little squirts until I can finally remove it. I take her toe and force her to eat it, and until she complies I break her nose. The bitch screams so loud and annoys me so bad that I have to take someone's eyes and shove them in her mouth and then spray her face with a combination of mace and bleach to make her fulfill my needs. I mutilate her vagina, tearing the soft pinkish-red meat away and tasting it. This is such a horrible death, but I'm too hungry for it to stop. I continue to tear at her cunt until her thighs are soaked with blood. Her tits are being sliced next and I can see some of the yellow fat deep inside them. Blood runs like water and trickles down her skin. She's about to pass out, but before she does, I stab her in the neck, causing a violent spout of crimson to shoot on my walls. The bitch finally dies, and for that split second I feel alive.

The next second, I feel empty. Hollow. My stomach coils like a snake in a hole. And I start crying. I'm trying not to cry, because McDermott said that crying was bad for the skin and caused acne, but I couldn't stop it. I should feel fulfilled, but I _fucking_ don't. I feel painfully ordinary. I stand up, wipe my tears, and put on a Stacey Q. tape. Afterwards, I put Samantha in my walk-in closet and fuck her mouth. I must be the most miserable, sickest, merciless son-of-a-bitch in New York. But I can't help it, and I won't. In thirty minutes, Evelyn will call me back to reschedule our date at Dorsia. I take the body parts off the stove and throw them out. Tomorrow, I'll wash off the blood. I missed _The Patty Winters Show. _

I think….

I just want to feel alive.

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End file.
